Bonnie's Story

I was diagnosed with breast cancer on Dec. 8, 1993. I had turned 50 just two
months before. I had regular checkups and periodic mammograms--the previous
one, in the spring of 1993, came back fine. Towards the fall, I began
to notice that my left breast felt a bit swollen and painful, but I'd
had this before and thought it would go away by itself eventually as it
had in the past.

I had just switched to a new ob/gyn and my next appointment was set for
December and I figured if I still had the problem, she would address it
then. But I couldn't wait that long. By Columbus Day weekend I was so
uncomfortable I had to sleep with a pillow under my left arm and could
not lie on my stomach.

When I woke up one morning with what looked like a black and blue mark
the size of a half-dollar on my breast, I arranged to have a mammogram
nine months after the last one. I never even called the doctor. About
a week later, I was asked to come in for some additional views of that
breast. Two weeks a doctor called and said the radiologist saw something
"that might not be cancer" but should be checked by a surgeon.

I've read in more than a few places that inflammatory breast cancer is
often mistaken for benign breast disease or for a less aggressive form
of bc. My surgeon's comment after he looked at the slide and examined
me was, "We're going to do a biopsy, but I've seen enough of these. You
have breast cancer." I still shiver at the memory.

The following week, after the biopsy confirmed the ibc, I spent a day
meeting with my team: radiation oncologist, medical oncologist, psychologist,
and nurses. I had six cycles of CAF at three- to four-week intervals from
late December through April (with a noticeable reduction in the swelling
by the time I came back for the second cycle), and an mrm in June 1994;
none of my lymph nodes was positive. I expected to then begin CMF and
to complete the treatment with radiation. But the University of Massachusetts
Medical Center in Worcester, where everything was being done, had just
opened its new bone marrow unit to bc patients and I was recommended for
the procedure. After a series of tests and consultations I was accepted
and underwent an autologous bone marrow transplant in September 1994.
I had my stem cells removed by pheresis in August and had my bone marrow
harvested under general anesthetic on Sept. 8, 1994. I received cytoxan,
thiotepa and carboplatin for four days and the stem cell/marrow mix was
reinfused on Sept. 16. I came home on Oct. 2--25 days after I was admitted.

I was one of the fortunate people who had almost no side effects from
any of the treatment. The little nausea I had during the six cycles of
chemo was controlled with Zofran--so well that my husband and I went for
dinner after my Friday afternoon treatment--and I drove myself in for
the last four cycles. I worked until noon on Friday, drove the short distance
to the hospital, and often did errands on the way home. I was back at
my desk on Monday.

I had no hair for 14 months but my friends and colleagues were kind and
convinced me they couldn't tell I was wearing a wig. I had no side effects
in the BMT unit either -- except for continuous nausea and vomiting once
the HDC got hold of me. The nurses said I would not have suffered so much
if I had been willing to accept IV medication for it but it made me groggy
so I refused any anti-nausea meds that weren't in pill form.

I returned to work full time exactly four months after my transplant
and have not had any significant problems since. I ended my protocol with
approximately seven weeks of radiation. I am now taking Tamoxifen and
Fosamax. I feel wonderful!

I credit my success to a surprising tolerance for the chemo side effects
that enabled me to continue my life with only minor disruptions; to my
husband and children and family and friends who continue to be my cheering
section; and, most important during this challenging treatment, to a medical
team I believed in and who believed in me.

In December 1999 it was six years since I learned I had inflammatory
breast cancer. I am very much alive and very much the daughter/sister/wife/mother/friend
and colleague I was before I was diagnosed--experiencing the joys and
meeting the challenges of day-to-day living--just like everyone else.

The words I live by are from writer/reporter Linda Ellerbee: "Breast
cancer is part of my past and may be part of my future, but it's certainly
not who I am. And while I don't expect to live forever, one can always
hope."